gifts

Many of you know my dear friend Martha died 7 months ago.


For any of you, which is probably all of you, who have lost someone you likely know that there are so many things about death and loss that are profoundly difficult to comprehend, let alone express with words.


An avid gardener, Martha's favorite time of year was spring. I have missed her palpably for the past few weeks, the thin scab rubbed raw and open again by memory, by sadness, and most of all by the loss of the future. The future moments. The potential of where life's journey can take you. The irrevocable decision that her life, brilliant in technicolor, would simply, in the draw of a breath, be gone.

Now I have all sorts of comforting beliefs about the continuum of spirit- not so much in line with "heaven" but more about a universe that utilizes every soul, every form of energy and restores it to its most pure form once it no longer inhabits physical form, recycling it for the highest good- but I'm finding that my heart is following well, frankly, a more selfish road right now.

Today we will travel to Belfast to attend Martha's graveside service to bury her ashes. I have no fears about "where" Martha is- I feel her with me. I see her goodness everywhere, abounding in countless amazing incidents, interactions and events- blooming full in each springtime flower. Where I am struggling is that I purely and simply miss her. The dissemination of her belongings, the selling of her house, the burial of her ashes- I find it all to be a rather annoying reminder of something my brain longs to forget.

She is not coming back.


I drive past her house everyday and have somehow kept it my head as a shrine to her, patiently awaiting her return. I was devastated when I found out it was under contract- wait that's Martha's place!- and all I could hope for was that maybe a family would live there and transform the tragic into joyful with little feet romping through flower gardens and filling the halls with laughter.

Yet even better I found out a friend of mine (completely coincidental, or not...) is buying Martha's house. It will not be a house closed to me forever, harboring only sadness and regret. It will be a happy home, one I can enter with new eyes, with new memories.

That is the tricky thing about grieving the lost future of Martha's life. It simply leaves no room for the countless other journey's life can take. Who am I to put a judgement on how long someone should walk in physical form, as though they need to partake of a certain number of years in order for their life to have been fully lived? Who am I to say that the unfolding of life in Martha's absence is any less valuable than when she was alive?

A few months ago, I was given some of the things Martha bequeathed to me in her will. We always shared a love of cooking and much to my surprise, she left me all of her cookbooks, beautiful cooper pots and pans, and all of her cooking equipment. This was just one snapshot of our spare room with the first load:



Buried in one of the boxes was the gorgeous pewter bowl.


And Martha's beloved copper tea pot. Drinking tea, digging up plants, and chatting about life- that was what we did together.

I have been wanting a Kitchenaide mixer since the beginning of time. Or at least since I became serious about cooking. My first test drive with it (making bread dough, no less) produced a snowstorm of flour all over me and the counter. Martha may have imparted me with her cooking things, but her culinary intelligence I'm afraid I am going to have to work on channeling.

I was granted 11 BOXES of Martha's cookbooks. A friend of hers said, "What does anyone need with that many cookbooks?" My thought: when you are creative and brilliant, why not?

Beyond the classic standbys of Julia Child, hardcover bound tomes of Gourmet magazine, Rosy Levy Beranbaum's "The Pie and Pastry Bible" and the like, here are some more obscure titles:

"Pestos! Cooking with Herb Pastes"

"Clambakes and Fishfrys"

"The London Ritz Book of Afternoon Tea"

"Cretan Cooking"

"The Strawberry Connection"

"The Internation Fondue Cookbook"

"The Best of Amish Cooking"

"The Complete Yogurt Book"

"The Eggbeater Chronicles"

"The Leftover Gourmet"

"Ginger"

"Russian Cooking"

"Hot, Salty, Sour, Sweet"

"The Art of Cooking Omlettes"

What I have found is that there is something incredibly intimate about having someone's things. Not just items they no longer wanted and gave away, but their everyday things. For me these are Martha's spoons, knives, grater, cutting board, pots, pans, strainers, measuring cups, and gadgets. It is rare that I don't pick one up and imagine her working around her kitchen and using the same tool to make a masterpiece.

Other items we now have to play with: a pasta maker, ice cream maker, a 1950's style blender that I LOVE, cake tins, springform tins, a cast iron dutch oven, cast iron crepe pan, souffle dishes, cake decorating tools, pastry tools, a mandolin (no not the instrument), a potato ricer, an espresso maker, soup pots and countless gadgets, some of which I don't even know what to do with, among other things.

So, over the past few months, we've been playing around with all of Martha's kitchen toys.

We made a cake,

and you may remember this torte...

I made a squash casserole in the gorgeous french stoneware crock,

and the best blueberry muffins ever in her cast iron muffin tin...

(I'm a total cast iron convert.)

And on Valentine's Day we made chocolate candy and truffles.

Martha...

My garden, overflowing with plants you gave me, my dear friend, has really hit its stride this year, blossoming full with lush green and a feast of color. These are some of the tulips you gave our girls for their birthday a couple of years ago. Somehow they found their way up yet again this year. We talk about you all the time- how much you blessed us in your life, and somehow, also in your death. And despite the many gifts you have given me, one of the most beloved by me are the words you wrote me in the letter you left for me:

"Your children are as lucky as any person could possibly be to have you as their mother. Your loving, giving heart will so redound to their benefit. Take very good care of yourself. You deserve the very best."

Words fail to capture what is on my heart on this beautiful spring morning when we will place your ashes, not you, not your body, not your essence, into the ground to say goodbye. I want you to know I miss you so. And yet I am certain that, like the phoenix, you burned into ash to be reborn and reemerge.

I will forever listen for you on the breeze, see your beauty in the speckled, open belly of a Stargazer lily, see your smile when the sun catches Ella's hair just so as she spins around and around, and watch for your sparkle along the ridges of the Milky Way or the sunlight when it dances on the ocean waves. My life will never be the same.

go fly a kite

Ella has this kite that she has REALLY, REALLY wanted to fly. For a variety of reasons, it has never successfully taken flight.

Last week we joined Sandi on a three day trip to Portland (of which two days for her were spent in a windowless room learning all sorts of things over my head about critical care.) We were going to go to Massachusetts to a butterfly sanctuary but the 5 1/2 hour drive rightfully intimidated us and we decided instead on some outlet shopping in Freeport and hit the beach.

Now see I was very strategic in packing the kite because I knew that if this kite had a prayer for ever skimming on the breeze it would be at Sandi's hand. I regret that at times I think Ella believes I am incapable of certain things because I rely on Sandi to do them (such as "Maya has a bug bite on her eye and it's bleeding! What are we going to do? Mommy's not here!") but this kite had already had it's string snapped and had nearly taken a small child out at the knees when I was captaining it.

Here it is. And it's Barbie no less.

Ella, watching the surf (and sporting her new outfit from LLBean and a Carhart hat- can I get a big HUH? for that one?) confident her mechanically minded Mommy can get this thing to take flight.


Attempt #1...

and it's logical outcome.

Attempt #2.

Success!

Followed by irony.

Once the kite was in the air, Ella completely lost interest. I think Sandi was a tad bit mortified to be flying a BARBIE kit. (I love this picture with Maya marching across the frame.)

Once it was up, it was hard to let it down.

For Maya it was all about the surf.

Overall we had a really nice trip with beautiful weather, happy children and content, but tired moms. Our girls were so thrilled about the hotel they didn't sleep much. And neither did we as you can see by looking at Sandi's eyes.

Ella asked for pink sneakers so she could be a runner (my heart beat still) and we lucked out at the Nike outlet. She is absolutely in love with these and says now she can run fast from the boys as school when they chase her. Then in the next breath she said, "Well, I guess they can't really get me. They are only five-year-olds after all."

But when it was all said and done, we just plain 'ol wore them out.

overheard

I was in the other room when I heard Sandi say this to our girls:

"Let me show you how to goose someone." Giggles ensued.

Followed by crying.

Followed by: "Goosing is supposed to be fun."

a good 'ol fashion ice cream party

What is better than a drippy, chocolate ice cream with sprinkles on a warm spring day?

If your the mom, the answer is: when that drippy chocolate ice cream (with sprinkles!) is consumed x4 OUTSIDE.

I'm not really sure what happened to Anna but she began to covet her ice cream cone in a way that left her no choice but to glare defensively at others.

And when the glare didn't work, it was time for the outright scream.

Note to parents: your role as an mandated ice cream drip licker is limited. Don't push it.

the runaround

I think there might be something a teensy bit off about my brain.



Such as, I went from thinking an 18 mile run, broken up as three distinct short runs wasn't that long to being unable to stop replaying just how long my 20 mile run was this weekend. Such as, when I see someone running on the side of the road I often think, god that looks like a lot of work, and I get tired at the thought. Such as, when our friend Ange (who lives 40 minutes away) told me that she lives almost exactly 26 miles from us, I wanted to throw up a little. Then I said, "Who in their right mind would want to run that far?"


I have purely inspired visions of elation and mountain-summiting pride as I cross the finish line. These are punctuated with images of struggle, jogging slower than a walk, tears, maybe even some light bloodshed and impending failure. I'll admit it. I don't actually worry about failing. I am way too determined and blindly stubborn to allow it. I'm more worried about crawling, or worse, walking across the finish line. I heard a story of a runner who collapsed in the VT marathon like 50 feet from the finish line.







I feel badly for him, I do. But all I can think is, please not me.







Did I mention it was raining, with prediction of high, wild wind when I ran Saturday? And that I was wet the whole time? Did I also mention that I didn't hit my running stride until about mile 9?





I'm actually getting really excited about the marathon. Or maybe it is just the trip to Burlington with Sandi and a bunch of friends that excites me. Or Magic Hat brewery. Or Lake Champlain chocolate milkshakes after the run.





But it's a good thing that there is a 3 week taper because the last couple of nights I have laid in bed replaying just how damn hard it was to run 20 miles. Not the whole time but there were probably 2 dark miles (separated by 90+ minutes) where I just thought, why does 20 miles have to be so far? Why are we running all over Bangor instead of heading back in the direction of Jen's house?





Some highlights: Jen and Andrea's families (they are neighbors) met us at the end of their road with the picnic of food Jen had packed for us and signs that said "GO MOM!" (This was the completion of our 11 mile loop and the start of our 9 mile loop.) Emilie and Christine met us on
the side of the road at about mile 14 with gatorade, bars, cowbells, and the love, devotion and pride of the fellow 20 miler. Oh, and we ran it in just under 3 1/2 hours which meant that, despite the snail-like feel of my pace at one point, we were actually running pretty fast.


Mile 14.

They were also waiting for us an hour later in Jen's driveway with hot coffee, words of encouragement and praise and a much needed reminder for me that the marathon would be easier than what I had just done. The crowds! The adrenaline!

I believe them. I do. And I'm glad that the three week taper that begins today (!) means that I will have some distance between that run, that utter fatigue in my legs that did NOT want to go another 6.2 miles, and race day.

20 miles is supposed to be hard, right??

the running posse

I stole this picture from Emilie's blog. I figured these amazing women deserved more than a shout out on our blog. A real photo of these gritty, tough as nails ladies was in order.

From left to right: Christine, Emilie (barefoot from post-run foot pain, not a barefoot runner), me, Amy and Jen. There are two women missing (Susan and Andrea) but I will have more pictures I'm sure.

It's hard to think of much besides the marathon these days but I am excited to go spend three days with my three favorite girls. I think the beach is in order for tomorrow. A needed break from running and running around.

ummm, you don't know me but...

I picked someone up at the gym today.

No, silly, not like that.

You see I had to run 10 miles today. I had no wiggle room on this as we are getting ready to be out of town for the next 3 full days when I will have no chance to do this almost 2 hour run, plus I need to rest my legs up for the mammoth 20 mile run (yikes! and yay!) this Saturday.

So today was my day. This GORGEOUS day- nearly 70 degrees, sunny, cloudless- I was headed to the gym because that is where the child care is. I was trying not to feel sorry for myself. I said to Sandi before she left for work, "Tell me one thing that will make me feel better about running inside on a treadmill today. Just one thing." (I rely on her heavily for this role in my life. She never disappoints.) But today she just kind of looked at me, searching her cerebral databank for some optimistic thought, clearly coming up empty.

"I know!" I said. "I will save my skin the sun exposure!"

"There you go," she said and gave me a somewhat pitiful look and a kiss and left for work.

I coudn't think too much about it. I felt like a bad mom for keeping my kids inside and a bad human being for using electricity to run inside. It just seemed so wrong.

I did okay for the first hour and then made a mental game of the next 30 minutes and as I was rounding mile 9 into 10 at about an hour and half I just wanted to get off that treadmill and gulp some fresh air. So I looked at the woman on the treadmill next to me, doing a walk/run thing and looking like she was working pretty hard, and after a minute's contemplation, pulled out my earbud and flagged her down.

"Can you run a mile?" I asked. Somewhat of an intimate gym question I suppose but I was kind of desperate.

"Yes," she answered, clearly wondering where this was going.

"Would you please run my last mile with me?" I asked/pleaded.

"Sure."

So there we were, two complete strangers pumping it out. I think it was as hard a mile for her as for me. When we were done I thanked her profusely as we wiped down our machines and she kind of seemed like she wanted to get away. No small talk, no introductions, no bonding over her sort of saving my ass.

I fear perhaps I am about to or already have crossed the line of appropriate personal boundaries and I am in danger of just sucking life like a parasite to propel myself forward. It's okay, I know who my friends are. That said, I won't be offended if you see me coming in my Brooks and my running shorts and take off in the opposite direction.

Kid-holiday

The girls went on holiday to Beals Island this weekend. Grandparents and Aunt on duty- Moms off to play.

Now when most parents have time to themselves they usually spend it in pretty typical ways- sleeping, going out to dinner, going out with friends, doing basic non-kid activities and living a life (briefly) that moves at an adult pace, rather than fitting the needs of crying or whining or needing-to-sleep children.

We painted our living room.

See this was the premise under which we asked for the weekend without the kids so we kind of had to actually paint the living room.

The living room had last been painted a mere 7 or 8 years ago, but the kids and animals and wood stove had taken its toll. Out with the cream, in with the hot chocolate.

I am actually not allowed to do any of the fine-motor painting (deemed by Sandi) so I am the brute force wielding the roller.
Sandi has the necessary perfectionistic qualities necessary for perfect painting edges. I happily comply. I am a reckless sort of painter who finds paint slashes on her skin and streaks through her hair for days to come.

Someone said to us, "Painting? That's how you're going to spend you're time away?" My first thought was, well when else are we going to get to paint the living room?

My second: Are you kidding? We LOVE to do this.

Look how happy we are! We had the music playing, we had no one else's needs to consider, we stopped when we were hungry and ate at odd times, and we just plain 'ol love working on projects together. Becoming parents means more tag-teaming than cooperative effort and I think this is one of the things we miss the most about our former life. That, and laying in bed having the spring sun wake you up and getting up leisurely to go out for a hike. (As a for instance that Sandi was reminiscing about this morning.)

This is one of the things I have come to appreciate about our relationship: we function (at our best, that is) in the true spirit of yin and yang. There are some things that are important or fulfilling for Sandi (such as straight lines, pictures hung at perfect balance, technological gear of any kind, maintaining correct tire pressure in her bike tires, wi-fi and ipods and blackberries) which are usually the things that matter little to me. By contrast the things that matter to me (that my bike will allow me to pedal it, regardless of its tire pressure, a clean house, super nutritious food, a running schedule, being on time, having a birthday present a week before a birthday) matter less to her. Not that either of these things are unimportant to the other, just that they don't take the highest priority.

See, so when we work well as a team, we achieve some pretty awesome balance. We eat well, live in a clean house with a workable computer, we have good tire pressure in our bike tires, well-hung pictures, birthday presents that are wrapped and ready, a sleek paint job and wireless Internet in the car to look up facts and directions and weather and anything else and we are generally on time. We have a pretty enriched life with half the effort because the other one of us is going to secure the things that are most important to her. And best of all, the things that really matter, like happy kids, financial matters, the balance of work and play and life perspective, are both equally important to us.

(When we are out of balance, though, everything kind of falls to crap so we work hard at it.)

However, between prepping the banged up walls, caulking the cracks in the woodwork and putting on a coat of primer, in addition to the 2 coats each on wall and trim, we had to spend a lot of time actually painting. It was hard to fit it all the other kid-free activities. I did manage to get my hair cut and go for a 14-mile training run and Sandi to the gym, we weeded and mulched the garden,we went out to dinner and got to have a campfire with friends, but some stuff we just had to fit in while we painted.

Like napping...

and eating chocolate...

and studying for her critical care nursing exam...

or having a beer. (This photo taken at 1 a.m. during clean-up since we had to get the girls the next morning.)

We sacraficed sleep and lazy lying in bed but we got a new living room...

I'm not joking when I say it was one of the most fun weekends of my whole life. (And some really fantastic news, summer-like weather, Dogfish Head IPA and the coconut naan bread from Taste of India didn't hurt.)